Photographs

Been a few days now. Haven’t done as much as I’d thought we’d do; 330 went straight to the library the morning after we arrived, and rarely comes out. Peter sometimes goes to help her, but he’s also got classes to teach. I spent the whole first day in the room I’d been given; Youtubed a few episodes from the 11th Doctor. Think I like Tennant better, to be honest.

Yesterday, I probably would have done the same if 330 hadn’t suggested to Peter that he take me on a tour of the university. Since he didn’t have any classes until the afternoon, he agreed.

Miskatonic has a beautiful campus… if I had ever gone to a college, this is where I’d have wanted to go. Peter talked a bit about his job there: working as a professor at Miskatonic has been one of his family’s tradition for almost as long as the university’s been around.

We ended up getting lunch at a little sandwich place just off campus. Peter’s a bit of a talker…. Which is good, because without him providing most of the conversation, we’d have been sitting in silence. Most of the parts where I did talk consisted of me answering questions about 330. He laughed when I said I’ve known her for about two months now; told me that “Last time I saw I-330, she only stayed for a week, and it was the most interesting week of my life. Can’t imagine what two whole months would be like.” Didn’t know how to tell him that most of that time was spent watching Doctor Who.

He asked about what kind of “adventures” 330 had been dragging me on; told him he wouldn’t believe me. He claimed he would. So… I told him about the Black Dog….

Like I had expected, he laughed.
Not like I had expected, he following the laughter with “That’s all? I-330 must be cutting back on the excitement.”
What?

He must have saw my surprise, because he asked, “You’re more in the dark about all of this than I am, aren’t you?”
Yeah, looks like that.

He had to go teach his classes after that, but said he’s tell me more that night.

Didn’t do much else for the rest of the day. 330 was still off at the library when Peter got back. He went up to his room and brought down an old looking book, which he laid down on the kitchen table. Started flipping through pages covered in photographs, stopping at a point near the start of the book. The photos on those pages were ancient, but carefully preserved. Peter pointed at a browning, cracked picture of two people standing on a hill overlooking a town. “The man on the right is my grandfather, Richard Walsh, not long after he became a professor. As for the one on the left… well, I’m sure you recognize her.”

I did. It sounds stupidly impossible, but I recognized her instantly. I-330, wearing her usual outfit and scowling slightly at whoever was taking the picture. Not just someone who looked like her, this was 330, in a photograph which Peter said to be from the 1920s. There were a few differences…. She didn’t have the vertical scar running down her face (though she still had the curved one on her cheek) and her hair was a bit shorter, but it was still 330.

“What happened to her arm?” Had to ask. The left sleeve of her coat hung empty, as though she didn’t have an arm at all.

Peter grimaced, and I could tell I’d asked the wrong question. “That’s a story she’ll have to tell you herself,” he said as he started flipping pages again. The next photo he stopped on was much newer, and in color. 330 was in the center, still lacking the vertical scar, but her left arm was present (and her hand gloved, like I’ve always seen.) There were two others in the photo: an older looking man, and a little boy.

“That’s my grandpa again on the left,” Peter said, “and the little one’s me. First time I saw I-330, I was six years old. Believe me, she was really the sort who left an impression on you. I spent years telling my grandfather that I didn’t want to be a professor; I wanted to become an adventurer and run away with I-330.”

For a few moments Peter stared into space. Wanted to ask him questions, but kept silent and waited for him to continue.

Eventually, he started turning pages again, and stopped at a newer picture. This one… caught me a bit off guard. It was a group of college students, maybe around a dozen (I didn’t count). In the center, arm over the shoulder of a surprisingly young looking Peter, and with a huge grin on her face, was 330. I could tell it was her, but… it was the most different I’d seen her in any of the photos. The only scar on her face was the curved cheek one, her hair was the shortest I’ve ever seen (barely reaching past her shoulders), no glove over her left hand, and no eye patch. I’d gotten so used to that eye patch…. Looking at both blue eyes staring back at me felt weird.

“Bit of a startling change, isn’t it?” Peter’s voice made me jump; I hadn’t been aware of hose intensely I’d been staring at the photo. “Never did get an explanation from her about it. That was the last time I saw her for years, until she called me out of the blue a few days ago.”

“But how did she get into all these photos?”

“Well, I can’t say for sure, but I had theories. I used to think she was an immortal with healing abilities….” I must have given him an odd look at that, because he quickly defended it with, “I’ve encountered stranger things. But now that I’m seeing her again with all the same scars as when I was a kid, plus a new one, I’m not sure. However she does it, she’s never told me.”

The conversation didn’t last long after that. My fault; I’d mostly stopped being responsive so I could focus on the photos. I need to figure out what’s going on there….

-Lisa